


Adore

by Cardinal_Daughter



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pining, Post-Series, Smut, Thirty-Year Absence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardinal_Daughter/pseuds/Cardinal_Daughter
Summary: The road to hell is paved with one intention.





	Adore

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by one of my favorite William Control songs "Adore (Fall in Love Forever)". If you've never heard it, I highly recommend listening to it. I think the song fits Alucard and Integra pretty well. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> A couple lines of the song are used within. I do not own the song "Adore (Fall in Love Forever)" nor do I own Hellsing Ultimate.

 

**Adore**

_The road to hell is paved with one intention._

 

_xxx_

 

He comes to her at the witching hour.

She stands outside, the air cool and crisp, her suit jacket discarded back in her office. She feels the prickles of cold on her skin, a phantom caress leaving dots of goose-flesh in its wake.

A few lights remain on in the mansion, a signal that those whose lives are guided by the light of the moon and not the sun are well awake and going about their tasks. It's summer, technically, though an English summer has never truly been the hot and burning thing of which many other countries boast. No, it's still temperate, cool, rain from earlier seeping into the grass and squelching under Integra's boots.

The smoke from her cigar is a beacon in the dark, and she inhales the earthy flavor and breathes out slowly, moving her mouth ever so slightly so that the smoke forms a ring, floating whimsically in the air before dissipating into nothingness.

There's something in the air tonight; something long coming and greatly anticipated. Thirty years in the making. Thirty years of unnecessary waiting.

Integra does not like to be kept waiting.

She doesn't know how she knows. But she does. She knows it innately, intimately. There is no proof- Integra prefers facts and data, but in her more matured state she allows herself a whim or two every so often, and indulges in the gut-deep feeling that tonight is the night.

She feels it in her bones. In her heart. In her soul. The soul she shares with him.

Somewhere, in the distance and so faint she wouldn't have heard it if she hadn't been anticipating it, a clock strikes three.

Integra turns and looks to the horizon, her back to Hellsing Manor. The cigar burns slowly, turning to ash little by little. The night is cool but the air is still, like a heart in between beats, and silent. Integra waits.

Something in the air shifts and behind her, Integra feels a presence forming. She turns, cigar held firmly in her mouth, hands clasped behind her back as if she were a general about to give orders.

She was, once.

But those days are done, and while Hellsing still has a job to do, it is more of a guardianship. Standing guard over the country, waiting for the day they will be needed again. A watchman on the wall.

_Who watches the watchmen?_

He looks exactly as she remembers.

He's on his knees before her, a fluttering of black tendrils tossing back and forth as they give him shape, and after all this time he has returned to her.

"My master," he breathes, and it sounds like the first time he's spoken in an age. Raspy and desperate, just as when her blood accidentally roused him from his previous slumber.

Her shoulder throbs at the phantom pain bursting through it.

"You disobeyed me."

She's long thought of what she might say to him upon his return- because his return had not been optional. She'd once been angry, and her words had been as hard and piercing as a crucifix to the heart. Then she'd been apathetic, masking her pain and loneliness under the guise of carelessness. "Oh, you're back."

She'd considered ignoring him entirely, raging at him, or rushing to him and embracing him (a thought that made her flush and the space between her thighs ache.)

But now he's here, and there's only sorrow. There's only the broken heart of a twenty-two year old girl who lost everything she ever loved. There's a young woman who never got to say the things she'd long dreamed of saying, once upon a time when her dreams were of a battle won and she and her monster emerging together from the battlefield painted in shades of red.

There's a woman who'd been forced to watch one half of her soul be wrenched from her grasp; there's a woman who had been helpless to stop the one thing she'd always secretly feared most.

Losing him.

"I am deeply sorry, my master," he responds, breathless and weary. He sounds as if he's been running nonstop for thirty years.

In some ways, that's exactly what he's done.

"I was delayed."

She lets out a breath, and it almost sounds like a laugh. "Thirty years is quite a delay."

He is still kneeling, though from repentance or weakness she cannot tell. She steps closer to him, kneels down to his level, feels both knees grow wet from the lingering droplets of that evening's rain shower.

"Your eye," he breathes, and a trembling hand reaches out to caress her. She catches his hand in hers to stop him, but does not let go. She removes the cigar with her other hand and twists it in the damp grass, snubbing out the spark.

"I've been without it longer than I had it," she dismisses, "It is of little consequence."

"It _is_ of consequence," he snaps, "I long to see my master look upon me, that piercing cold a balm to the burning ache that is my soul."

She releases the stub of her cigar and uses that hand to cup his chin. "Then look."

His eyes pierce hers- red swallowing blue. She feels the gooseflesh return, and knows it is not from the cool of the night.

"I am so thirsty," he breathes, "Are you an oasis, my master? Are you real?"

"I am real," she confirms, "Are you?"

A small, bitter laugh escapes him. "I hardly know anymore."

"Then allow me to offer you some clarity." Without preamble, she lifts a gloveless finger to her lips and bites down, cutting the skin with a practiced ease. She holds her finger out to him, blood pooling and sliding down the digit, delightful and warm and beckoning.

She presses her finger against his lips and feels him shudder. "Drink, Count."

His lips wrap around the digit, and he sucks.

Integra bites back a gasp at the sensation. He's never fed from her like this before: she's never allowed him to. But thirty years is a long time to wait for such a moment, and Integra has no interest in putting off what she never wanted to wait for in the first place.

He drinks, the personification of gluttony, and Integra forces her way through an aroused train of thought to study the vampire before her.

His eyes are closed, savoring the sweetness of her nectar, that red honey that he so openly craves. His hands hold hers to him, firm but loose so that she may pull away as she wishes. A small part of her wants him to drain her dry, to pull her very essence from her earthly shell so that she can be free from the torment of loving a monster.

_But are you not one in the same? He may have done the deed, but was it not your words that moved his hands? Are you not the puppet master, pulling his strings to and fro?_

She doesn't know how to answer that piece of introspection and pulls away from it to focus on the strangely erotic pulsing of her blood as her rapidly beating heart pushes droplet after droplet into Alucard's mouth. When she begins to feel light headed, she pulls her hand slightly, and he obeys without comment or complaint. He licks the wound, sealing it, but does not release her hand from his hold.

"I have returned, my Countess," he breathes, and his eyes glow with life. "Have you any orders for me? A command? I still live to serve my master, and I yearn to please you!"

She leans in, and their foreheads touch. She can feel his breath on her face, hot and metallic, a welcome reprieve from the cool that surrounds them. His hands are like ice through his gloves, however, and the contrast is so like him. Cool to the touch, but his soul and his passion are as hot as the blood that flows in her veins.

"I have two orders, Count."

His grin is all jagged teeth, wicked and haunting and full of promise. "Yes!"

"Kiss me."

He wastes no time; he has always obeyed her commands, always relished in the stern and confident way she gives them. She is no different now. Thirty years has not changed her. She is no breathless maiden who blushes and swoons at the thought of being kissed. No. She demands she be kissed, knows it is what she wants and does not pretend otherwise. He loves her all the more for it.

His lips cover hers, and the last thirty years fade away in an instant. He is not returned from killing all the souls inside him in a desperate attempt to get back to her. She is not the Iron Maiden who works and waits diligently with a faith in him stronger than any priest in God. Now they are young, freshly free from battle, and no time has passed since the last time he was near her.

His hands hold her close to him, one clutching her at the waist and the other holding the back of her head, gloves fingers gripping her silver locks as his mouth moves with frantic impatience over her own.

He has all the time in the world but this moment will not last nearly long enough for his liking.

Integra, for her part, holds tight to Alucard in return, chilled, stiff fingers clutching the lapel of his jacket. He tastes as she's always imagined- metallic and warm, gun smoke and spice- and she all but sags against him, wanting to close the years between them until the only distance left is the fabric of their clothing.

He sighs against her lips before plucking the bottom one between his sharp teeth, teasing and tempted to bite. His tongue, which has gleefully drank the blood of thousands upon thousands of souls, now drinks her in, and he groans in unabashed and sinful delight as their mouths move in tandem, desperate and hopeless.

When they at last break away, their lips still brush as Integra catches her breath. She'll never admit to being breathless, but she can't deny that her heart beats a little harder and her lungs stretch a little further as she pulls in air. Alucard is panting as well, in the same way he used to do in the aftermath of gorging himself on a feast of blood. The hand that gripped her hair slides down to rest in her cheek, gloved fingers brushing carefully just below the eye patch.

His lips lightly skim over hers as he whispers, "And the second?"

Her hands pull him closer to her, their bodies pressed to one another tightly, and she can feel him, _really_ feel him. He is not a ghost or a phantom or a dream as he has so often been, but he is here before her, finally, and she can feel every part of him, from his breath against her skin to the gaunt firmness of his chest, the stillness of his heart and bruising grip around her waist.

And Integra Hellsing- who has much yet desires little- _wants_.

"Don't ever leave me again."

Where she expects a dark and sinister laugh or perhaps a wicked grin with a blasphemous retort, there is only a faint smile- sincere and full of longing as he breathes, "I am returned, Countess. Forever more."

His lips brush against hers at the title, and she soaks in his promise. One he had been forced to break prior. She knows- she _knows-_ he did not willfully disobey her. Alucard has always been many things: defiant, sinister, wild, pushing the boundary of what their relationship meant- but he'd never been outright disobedient.

The surprisingly earnest look in his red eyes tells her he means to never disobey again. That look drives her to kiss him again, hard and unforgiving. He relishes in her abrasive attack, feeding off her anger and desperation and need. He's felt the same for so long; he's glad to no longer be alone.

The kiss softens into something light and gentle and not at all like them. She has always been a razor sharp edge, and Alucard has always been as devastating as the bullets in his gun, and they have never been compared to anything soft that wasn't meant as an insult.

But her lips are soft, and his caress is gentle, and even though they shouldn't be- they are.

At length, Integra stands, holding out her hand for Alucard to take. He does, and uses the leverage provided to rise onto unsteady feet. He's beyond tired, but her blood has restored some of his previous vigor, and he looks over his master and sin is in his gaze.

"It has been far too long since I have gazed upon such beauty," Alucard purrs, his whisper nearly lost in the night. But Integra is in tune with her vampire, and his words do not go unnoticed.

"I am old," she says simply. "I have wrinkles. Greying hair. One eye."

"Trifles."

She smirks; she doesn't release his hand. "Flattery will not restore you into my good graces, vampire."

"Then tell me what I must do, my master Integra," he beckons, stepping closer to her.

She lifts her chin, proud and certain as she gazes up at him. "You already have your orders, Alucard."

He grins, and his eyes shine. "Say it again."

"You do not command me-"

He catches her cheeks between his hands and kisses her as ordered. Hungry and devouring, he swallows her with the same eagerness he drinks blood. "Please, I beseech you," he all but begs against her swollen lips, "Say my name!"

"Alucard."

"Yes!"

He is hungry for more than blood now, and Integra lets him sweep her up in his embrace. It is unbearably cold, then suddenly it isn't, and when she opens her eye she sees that she is in her bedroom. It is clean to military precision, everything in its proper place though her belongings are sparse. She has little need for material things, not when she has something everlasting in her arms.

"Please my master," he begs now, in the dim light the moon offers through her large and open windows. "Let me offer penance for my crime."

She pulls back to look at him. Considers his words. He is aching in her arms- she can feel him against her and she shudders in anticipation at that dream she's never allowed herself to finish. She thinks of how once upon a time- five, ten, fifteen years ago she might have made him suffer. Might have made him truly beg. Might have denied him outright in some self-righteous desire to make him pay. Instead she tosses away his hat with a careless throw and yanks on his cravat, loosening the knot and relishing in his feral growl.

"We have both suffered long enough, I think."

And then he is upon her, kissing madly, wantonly, messily. She is scarcely more composed, and sets to work unbuttoning his shirt. He merely rips hers in two, and she snarls at his carelessness.

"Alucard-"

His lips give hers something else to focus on instead of her complaint, but he takes more care as he unbuttons her slacks and slides a hand down them to graze her center. She bites back a gasp, and Alucard feels through his gloves that she is wet. For him.

“The thought of this moment has helped me carry on for thirty years,” he rasps, moving his hand lightly against her, savoring her sharp intake of breath. “Tell me, how often did you dream of this? Of me?”

“Foul creature,” Integra hisses through the pleasure that shoots through her, “Too often!”

Alucard laughs. “Oh how I adore you, my Integra! I have been starved of your presence for too long.” He pulls his hand away from her, brings his fingers to his mouth, where they linger for a long moment before he bites on the fabric of his glove and pulls it off and tosses it away. “I break my fast tonight.”

“Oh?” She breathes, challenging him. “You’ve already had blood tonight, vampire. What else could you possible desire?”

His gaze is dangerous and threatening and promising. “You, my master. You.”

She does not answer, but she does smile- a true, genuine smile that is full of unspoken desire and unsatisfied nights.

“It is my intention, Sir Integra,” he continues, hands moving to her waist and pushing her gently backwards as he steps forward- toward her bed- “To have you this fine evening.”

The back of her knees hits the bed and she allows herself to sink down onto its edge. Alucard kneels down before her and removes her shoes. The image brings to mind that of the disciple washing their master’s feet, and she shivers at the blasphemous comparison.

“The road to hell is paved with such intentions,” she says warningly, but slides her slender foot out of the shoe. The other follows until her bare feet rest on the hard, cold floor. “But I confess I find myself willing to indulge you.”

He laughs at that, and pulls off his cravat. “Perhaps it is time that someone indulge _you_ , my master Integra.”

Integra watches him, and wonders how this came to be. She long ago forbade him from reading her thoughts, but so often they are of one mind. They have a bond, beyond that which binds him to servitude. There is something there, between them, that has festered over forty years and now it has matured and demands to be put to rest. She has long since accepted that she loves the creature before her and she’s long since known that in his own twisted and demonic way, he loves her too. She wonders if he even had a choice in the matter but doesn’t let that question linger for long. What does it matter, if this is destined by some benign fate or by choice?

And anyway, Integra doesn’t want to think tonight. She only wants the weight of Alucard upon her, and he’ll be as heavy as her certainty that this is in fact what she has wanted for the majority of her life, but had long been too young to fully appreciate.

She is fifty-two now; she understands far too well the crooked desires of her wicked heart.

_The road to hell, indeed._

She grabs Alucard’s arm, and pulls him so that he is lurched toward the bed. He goes willingly, turning to fall upon his back upon the firm mattress, watching with unabashed amusement as Integra swivels and straddles his hips with one swift movement.

“Indulge me then, and let me have my way with you.”

She feels him twitch beneath her, and it sets a fire within her. “I have always been yours to do with as you please, my Integra. Tonight we pick up where we should never have been interrupted. This is the natural progression of things; you know it as well as I, don’t you?”

She answers him with a searing kiss.

His hands move to hold her, cupping her cheeks. When at last their lips part to allow her respite, he asks, oddly reverent, “Is this heaven?”

At Integra’s quizzical look he expounds on that thought: "I have known hell for so long, this cannot be anything but heaven; have I stepped past those pearly gates at last only to find myself in your arms?!"

"We've no need of heaven," she replies, "So long as we are together."

_As if heaven would accept me for all I’ve done; for all I’ve wanted to do. God save me. God save us._

"There can be nothing for it," he replies, breathless, "You are my Elysium field. My paradise, my rapture, and my salvation!”

“I seem to be too many things,” she replies hotly, “For one night I want nothing more than to simply be Integra.”

“Simply Integra,” he muses, idly playing with a lock of her silver hair. “There is nothing _simple_ about you, my master. No. Simple does not become you. But I grant you reprieve; let us just simply be. Do we not deserve it, after holding fast for thirty years? Frozen in a moment between then and now?” His hand travels and caresses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, her breast. “Yes. Let us _be.”_

She smirks and shifts against him. He groans at the friction, and grips her waist in an effort to force her to repeat the motion. She grants him what he wants and his groan melts into a sigh of utter relief. She feels relief too, seated atop him, and any other time she might revel in the power she has over him. But tonight she isn't concerned about power and status and who is in control. She wants to _lose_ control; wants the man beneath her more than she's ever wanted anything.

_I want to close my eyes and fall in love together._

She stands up, abruptly, and Alucard hisses as the loss of contact but grows silent as he watches her strip herself of the rest of her clothing. She's already bared her heart to him tonight, what difference does baring her flesh make?

Alucard sits up, and pulls her to him, to stand between his legs. He is still cold, but there is a slight warmth between his legs, and Integra wants to roll her eyes, but is sobered when he presses a kiss to the space in between her breasts. He lingers there, pressed to her, and Integra realizes after a quiet moment that he is listening to her heartbeat.

_Would his race as mine does_?

“My heart,” he breathes after a long moment, pressing another light kiss against her skin. “I've long since forgotten what it feels like.”

She isn't certain if he means the organ that lies dead in his chest, or if he's referring to her. Wonders if perhaps those two aren’t mutually exclusive. Wordlessly she wraps her arms around him, pressing his head ever so gently to her. “Then feel. As long as you please.”

He does, holding his ear to her chest as he listens to the sound of her life, the _thump-thump_ a steady tempo that stills him into a state of ease. Eventually, his hands wander, and he seems to find pleasure in touching her in ways that makes her heart skip a beat, quicken, then ease back down. He does this several times, hands ghosting over bare breasts, thumbing her nipple before trailing down to squeeze her buttocks and tickle her thighs. He lets one finger graze her center and laughs at how her heart leaps in her chest, the beating increasing to a faster tempo.

“Monster,” she hisses, but she does not release him, instead threading her fingers through his hair so tight it ought to be painful. He seems to delight in the sensation, if the groan that slips from him is any indication.

“I've a mind to never move from this spot,” he breathes, “I've been fighting every moment for thirty years. And it has been so long since I've felt such ease.”

“I have barely moved, waiting for your return,” she replies and the pain that his absence brought is undeniable in her voice. “I’m not inclined to merely _stand still_.”

He chuckles darkly, then leans back until he is lying on her bed, feet hanging off and resting on the floor. He tugs Integra down and she goes willingly, hands landing on either side of his body to hold her up as she's bent over him. Alucard licks his lips hungrily, and lifts his head lets his tongue lightly brush over her nipple. Integra shudders at the gesture, the sensation foreign but somehow exactly as she'd expected it would feel.

He teases her further, licking and sucking and kissing and making Integra’s breath hitch as she tries to keep control of her faculties. Her mouth opens slightly, her eyes widen, and she sucks in a hard breath as his mouth continues its exploration and his gloveless fingers move to once more stroke her center.

“Alucard!-” she gasps and she feels the tremble of his laugh against her.

“To hear you say my name with such awe, such passion,” he breathes against her skin, and the goose flesh returns, sending shivers all over her. “Why, even without your blood flowing through me this moment, that sound would be enough to _arouse_ me.”

She moves her hips forward at that, and the friction of her against him causes them both to cry out softly, and Alucard’s hand moves to latch onto her hips so that he can repeat the movement. She moves willingly upon his touch, then begins the task of trembling fingers undoing his fly, jerking everything down and moving so that flesh is pressed to flesh. She might laugh at him, had she seen him in such a state otherwise: pants to his knees, shirt half on-half off, eyes blazing hot with desire and list and need. But she does not laugh. Instead she presses against him again, and the feeling of his cold cock against her warmth is nearly enough to make her finish right there.

Alucard seems to sense this, and halts the friction. “I'm not even close to finished with you yet,” he hisses, pulling her down for a hard kiss. She resumes moving against him, their kisses interspersed with tremors and sighs.

“I cannot let you have all of me,” she whispers at length, seeming to come to her senses briefly. She looks at him with remorse. “No matter how much I might wish it.”

“The laws of nature are unkind,” he replies, but seems understanding, if not a little resigned. “But you are right.” He then cups a breast and squeezes, and the light in his eyes returns somewhat. “It is of little consequence, I suppose. There are a myriad of ways for us to enjoy one another.”

She raises a brow; a challenge. “Oh?”

He grins, accepting her challenge with brazen delight, and pushes her off him. He's quick to remove himself of the rest of his clothing, and then he is upon her, cool and heavy and exactly as she anticipated he would be.

“A loophole to be exploited,” he replies as he slides a leg between hers. She presses against him and the pressure is a relief to her aching core.

“Then you should exploit it thoroughly,” she breathes, “We have to make up for lost time.”

He grins; then he is upon her, consuming her, thrilling her, _loving_ her, and thirty years of longing and sorrow vanish like smoke.


End file.
